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20KLeagues.txt
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TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA
by
JULES VERNE
PART ONE
CHAPTER I
A SHIFTING REEF
The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and
puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries,
and the Governments of several States on the two continents, were
deeply interested in the matter.
For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely
larger and more rapid in its movements than a whale.
The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power
of locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If
it was a whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in
science. Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at
divers times--rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to
this object a length of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated
opinions which set it down as a mile in width and three in length--we
might fairly conclude that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all
dimensions admitted by the learned ones of the day, if it existed at
all. And that it DID exist was an undeniable fact; and, with that
tendency which disposes the human mind in favour of the marvellous, we
can understand the excitement produced in the entire world by this
supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables, the
idea was out of the question.
On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia. Captain Baker thought at
first that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even
prepared to determine its exact position when two columns of water,
projected by the mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred
and fifty feet up into the air. Now, unless the sandbank had been
submitted to the intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor
Higginson had to do neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal,
unknown till then, which threw up from its blow-holes columns of water
mixed with air and vapour.
Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company. But this extraordinary creature could transport
itself from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an
interval of three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had
observed it at two different points of the chart, separated by a
distance of more than seven hundred nautical leagues.
Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying
between the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the
monster to each other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long.
In these simultaneous observations they thought themselves justified in
estimating the minimum length of the mammal at more than three hundred
and fifty feet, as the Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions
than it, though they measured three hundred feet over all.
Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich islands, have never
exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain that.
In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion. They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on
the stage. All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it. There
appeared in the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary
creature, from the white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic
regions, to the immense kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship
of five hundred tons and hurry it into the abyss of the ocean. The
legends of ancient times were even revived.
Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals.
"The question of the monster" inflamed all minds. Editors of
scientific journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural,
spilled seas of ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing
blood; for from the sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.
During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public. It was
then no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger
seriously to be avoided. The question took quite another shape. The
monster became a small island, a rock, a reef, but a reef of indefinite
and shifting proportions.
On the 5th of March, 1867, the Moravian, of the Montreal Ocean Company,
finding herself during the night in 27° 30' lat. and 72° 15'
long., struck on her starboard quarter a rock, marked in no chart for
that part of the sea. Under the combined efforts of the wind and its
four hundred horse power, it was going at the rate of thirteen knots.
Had it not been for the superior strength of the hull of the Moravian,
she would have been broken by the shock and gone down with the 237
passengers she was bringing home from Canada.
The accident happened about five o'clock in the morning, as the day was
breaking. The officers of the quarter-deck hurried to the after-part
of the vessel. They examined the sea with the most careful attention.
They saw nothing but a strong eddy about three cables' length distant,
as if the surface had been violently agitated. The bearings of the
place were taken exactly, and the Moravian continued its route without
apparent damage. Had it struck on a submerged rock, or on an enormous
wreck? They could not tell; but, on examination of the ship's bottom
when undergoing repairs, it was found that part of her keel was broken.
This fact, so grave in itself, might perhaps have been forgotten like
many others if, three weeks after, it had not been re-enacted under
similar circumstances. But, thanks to the nationality of the victim of
the shock, thanks to the reputation of the company to which the vessel
belonged, the circumstance became extensively circulated.
The 13th of April, 1867, the sea being beautiful, the breeze
favourable, the Scotia, of the Cunard Company's line, found herself in
15° 12' long. and 45° 37' lat. She was going at the speed of
thirteen knots and a half.
At seventeen minutes past four in the afternoon, whilst the passengers
were assembled at lunch in the great saloon, a slight shock was felt on
the hull of the Scotia, on her quarter, a little aft of the port-paddle.
The Scotia had not struck, but she had been struck, and seemingly by
something rather sharp and penetrating than blunt. The shock had been
so slight that no one had been alarmed, had it not been for the shouts
of the carpenter's watch, who rushed on to the bridge, exclaiming, "We
are sinking! we are sinking!" At first the passengers were much
frightened, but Captain Anderson hastened to reassure them. The danger
could not be imminent. The Scotia, divided into seven compartments by
strong partitions, could brave with impunity any leak. Captain
Anderson went down immediately into the hold. He found that the sea
was pouring into the fifth compartment; and the rapidity of the influx
proved that the force of the water was considerable. Fortunately this
compartment did not hold the boilers, or the fires would have been
immediately extinguished. Captain Anderson ordered the engines to be
stopped at once, and one of the men went down to ascertain the extent
of the injury. Some minutes afterwards they discovered the existence
of a large hole, two yards in diameter, in the ship's bottom. Such a
leak could not be stopped; and the Scotia, her paddles half submerged,
was obliged to continue her course. She was then three hundred miles
from Cape Clear, and, after three days' delay, which caused great
uneasiness in Liverpool, she entered the basin of the company.
The engineers visited the Scotia, which was put in dry dock. They
could scarcely believe it possible; at two yards and a half below
water-mark was a regular rent, in the form of an isosceles triangle.
The broken place in the iron plates was so perfectly defined that it
could not have been more neatly done by a punch. It was clear, then,
that the instrument producing the perforation was not of a common stamp
and, after having been driven with prodigious strength, and piercing an
iron plate 1 3/8 inches thick, had withdrawn itself by a backward
motion.
Such was the last fact, which resulted in exciting once more the
torrent of public opinion. From this moment all unlucky casualties
which could not be otherwise accounted for were put down to the monster.
Upon this imaginary creature rested the responsibility of all these
shipwrecks, which unfortunately were considerable; for of three
thousand ships whose loss was annually recorded at Lloyd's, the number
of sailing and steam-ships supposed to be totally lost, from the
absence of all news, amounted to not less than two hundred!
Now, it was the "monster" who, justly or unjustly, was accused of their
disappearance, and, thanks to it, communication between the different
continents became more and more dangerous. The public demanded sharply
that the seas should at any price be relieved from this formidable
cetacean.[1]
[1] Member of the whale family.
CHAPTER II
PRO AND CON
At the period when these events took place, I had just returned from a
scientific research in the disagreeable territory of Nebraska, in the
United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant Professor in the
Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government had attached
me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived in New
York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My
departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile I
was occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and
zoological riches, when the accident happened to the Scotia.
I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day.
How could I be otherwise? I had read and reread all the American and
European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery
puzzled me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped
from one extreme to the other. That there really was something could
not be doubted, and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on
the wound of the Scotia.
On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The theory
of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by
minds little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed,
unless this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its
position with such astonishing rapidity?
From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck
was given up.
There remained, then, only two possible solutions of the question,
which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a
monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a
submarine vessel of enormous motive power.
But this last theory, plausible as it was, could not stand against
inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have
such a machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was
it built? and how could its construction have been kept secret?
Certainly a Government might possess such a destructive machine. And
in these disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the
power of weapons of war, it was possible that, without the knowledge of
others, a State might try to work such a formidable engine.
But the idea of a war machine fell before the declaration of
Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic
communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But how
admit that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the
public eye? For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such
circumstances would be very difficult, and for a State whose every act
is persistently watched by powerful rivals, certainly impossible.
Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of
consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France
a work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled Mysteries of the Great
Submarine Grounds. This book, highly approved of in the learned world,
gained for me a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of
Natural History. My advice was asked. As long as I could deny the
reality of the fact, I confined myself to a decided negative. But
soon, finding myself driven into a corner, I was obliged to explain
myself point by point. I discussed the question in all its forms,
politically and scientifically; and I give here an extract from a
carefully-studied article which I published in the number of the 30th
of April. It ran as follows:
"After examining one by one the different theories, rejecting all other
suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine
animal of enormous power.
"The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings
cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths--what beings
live, or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the
waters--what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely
conjecture. However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may
modify the form of the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of
beings which people our planet, or we do not. If we do NOT know them
all--if Nature has still secrets in the deeps for us, nothing is more
conformable to reason than to admit the existence of fishes, or
cetaceans of other kinds, or even of new species, of an organisation
formed to inhabit the strata inaccessible to soundings, and which an
accident of some sort has brought at long intervals to the upper level
of the ocean.
"If, on the contrary, we DO know all living kinds, we must necessarily
seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already
classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence
of a gigantic narwhal.
"The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of
sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength
proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you
obtain the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by
the officers of the Shannon, the instrument required by the perforation
of the Scotia, and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the
steamer.
"Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd,
according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk
has the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried
in the bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success.
Others have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of
ships, which they had pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces
a barrel. The Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one
of these defensive weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and
fifteen inches in diameter at the base.
"Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the animal
ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an hour,
and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required.
Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a
sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with
a real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the `rams' of war, whose
massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus
may this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something
over and above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or
experienced; which is just within the bounds of possibility."
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give too much
cause for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh.
I reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted
the existence of the "monster." My article was warmly discussed, which
procured it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of
partisans. The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to
the imagination. The human mind delights in grand conceptions of
supernatural beings. And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the
only medium through which these giants (against which terrestrial
animals, such as elephants or rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be
produced or developed.
The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from
this point of view. The Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, the Lloyd's
List, the Packet-Boat, and the Maritime and Colonial Review, all papers
devoted to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of
premium, were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been
pronounced. The United States were the first in the field; and in New
York they made preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this
narwhal. A frigate of great speed, the Abraham Lincoln, was put in
commission as soon as possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander
Farragut, who hastened the arming of his frigate; but, as it always
happens, the moment it was decided to pursue the monster, the monster
did not appear. For two months no one heard it spoken of. No ship met
with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew of the plots weaving around
it. It had been so much talked of, even through the Atlantic cable,
that jesters pretended that this slender fly had stopped a telegram on
its passage and was making the most of it.
So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided
with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to
pursue. Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned
that a steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to
Shanghai, had seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific
Ocean. The excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was
revictualled and well stocked with coal.
Three hours before the Abraham Lincoln left Brooklyn pier, I received a
letter worded as follows:
To M. ARONNAX, Professor in the Museum of Paris, Fifth Avenue Hotel,
New York.
SIR,--If you will consent to join the Abraham Lincoln in this
expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see
France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin
at your disposal.
Very cordially yours, J.B. HOBSON, Secretary of Marine.
CHAPTER III
I FORM MY RESOLUTION
Three seconds before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter I no more
thought of pursuing the unicorn than of attempting the passage of the
North Sea. Three seconds after reading the letter of the honourable
Secretary of Marine, I felt that my true vocation, the sole end of my
life, was to chase this disturbing monster and purge it from the world.
But I had just returned from a fatiguing journey, weary and longing for
repose. I aspired to nothing more than again seeing my country, my
friends, my little lodging by the Jardin des Plantes, my dear and
precious collections--but nothing could keep me back! I forgot
all--fatigue, friends and collections--and accepted without hesitation
the offer of the American Government.
"Besides," thought I, "all roads lead back to Europe; and the unicorn
may be amiable enough to hurry me towards the coast of France. This
worthy animal may allow itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for
my particular benefit), and I will not bring back less than half a yard
of his ivory halberd to the Museum of Natural History." But in the
meanwhile I must seek this narwhal in the North Pacific Ocean, which,
to return to France, was taking the road to the antipodes.
"Conseil," I called in an impatient voice.
Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had
accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the
liking well. He was quiet by nature, regular from principle, zealous
from habit, evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of
life, very quick with his hands, and apt at any service required of
him; and, despite his name, never giving advice--even when asked for it.
Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led.
Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never
make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might
be, or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he
had good health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no
nerves; good morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and
his age to that of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused
for saying that I was forty years old?
But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would
never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes
provoking.
"Conseil," said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make
preparations for my departure.
Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him
if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but
this time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the
enterprise might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of
sinking a frigate as easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for
reflection even to the most impassive man in the world. What would
Conseil say?
"Conseil," I called a third time.
Conseil appeared.
"Did you call, sir?" said he, entering.
"Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in
two hours."
"As you please, sir," replied Conseil, quietly.
"Not an instant to lose; lock in my trunk all travelling utensils,
coats, shirts, and stockings--without counting, as many as you can, and
make haste."
"And your collections, sir?" observed Conseil.
"They will keep them at the hotel."
"We are not returning to Paris, then?" said Conseil.
"Oh! certainly," I answered, evasively, "by making a curve."
"Will the curve please you, sir?"
"Oh! it will be nothing; not quite so direct a road, that is all. We
take our passage in the Abraham, Lincoln."
"As you think proper, sir," coolly replied Conseil.
"You see, my friend, it has to do with the monster--the famous narwhal.
We are going to purge it from the seas. A glorious mission, but a
dangerous one! We cannot tell where we may go; these animals can be
very capricious. But we will go whether or no; we have got a captain
who is pretty wide-awake."
Our luggage was transported to the deck of the frigate immediately. I
hastened on board and asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors
conducted me to the poop, where I found myself in the presence of a
good-looking officer, who held out his hand to me.
"Monsieur Pierre Aronnax?" said he.
"Himself," replied I. "Commander Farragut?"
"You are welcome, Professor; your cabin is ready for you."
I bowed, and desired to be conducted to the cabin destined for me.
The Abraham Lincoln had been well chosen and equipped for her new
destination. She was a frigate of great speed, fitted with
high-pressure engines which admitted a pressure of seven atmospheres.
Under this the Abraham Lincoln attained the mean speed of nearly
eighteen knots and a third an hour--a considerable speed, but,
nevertheless, insufficient to grapple with this gigantic cetacean.
The interior arrangements of the frigate corresponded to its nautical
qualities. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was in the after
part, opening upon the gunroom.
"We shall be well off here," said I to Conseil.
"As well, by your honour's leave, as a hermit-crab in the shell of a
whelk," said Conseil.
I left Conseil to stow our trunks conveniently away, and remounted the
poop in order to survey the preparations for departure.
At that moment Commander Farragut was ordering the last moorings to be
cast loose which held the Abraham Lincoln to the pier of Brooklyn. So
in a quarter of an hour, perhaps less, the frigate would have sailed
without me. I should have missed this extraordinary, supernatural, and
incredible expedition, the recital of which may well meet with some
suspicion.
But Commander Farragut would not lose a day nor an hour in scouring the
seas in which the animal had been sighted. He sent for the engineer.
"Is the steam full on?" asked he.
"Yes, sir," replied the engineer.
"Go ahead," cried Commander Farragut.
CHAPTER IV
NED LAND
Captain Farragut was a good seaman, worthy of the frigate he commanded.
His vessel and he were one. He was the soul of it. On the question of
the monster there was no doubt in his mind, and he would not allow the
existence of the animal to be disputed on board. He believed in it, as
certain good women believe in the leviathan--by faith, not by reason.
The monster did exist, and he had sworn to rid the seas of it. Either
Captain Farragut would kill the narwhal, or the narwhal would kill the
captain. There was no third course.
The officers on board shared the opinion of their chief. They were
ever chatting, discussing, and calculating the various chances of a
meeting, watching narrowly the vast surface of the ocean. More than
one took up his quarters voluntarily in the cross-trees, who would have
cursed such a berth under any other circumstances. As long as the sun
described its daily course, the rigging was crowded with sailors, whose
feet were burnt to such an extent by the heat of the deck as to render
it unbearable; still the Abraham Lincoln had not yet breasted the
suspected waters of the Pacific. As to the ship's company, they
desired nothing better than to meet the unicorn, to harpoon it, hoist
it on board, and despatch it. They watched the sea with eager
attention.
Besides, Captain Farragut had spoken of a certain sum of two thousand
dollars, set apart for whoever should first sight the monster, were he
cabin-boy, common seaman, or officer.
I leave you to judge how eyes were used on board the Abraham Lincoln.
For my own part I was not behind the others, and, left to no one my
share of daily observations. The frigate might have been called the
Argus, for a hundred reasons. Only one amongst us, Conseil, seemed to
protest by his indifference against the question which so interested us
all, and seemed to be out of keeping with the general enthusiasm on
board.
I have said that Captain Farragut had carefully provided his ship with
every apparatus for catching the gigantic cetacean. No whaler had ever
been better armed. We possessed every known engine, from the harpoon
thrown by the hand to the barbed arrows of the blunderbuss, and the
explosive balls of the duck-gun. On the forecastle lay the perfection
of a breech-loading gun, very thick at the breech, and very narrow in
the bore, the model of which had been in the Exhibition of 1867. This
precious weapon of American origin could throw with ease a conical
projectile of nine pounds to a mean distance of ten miles.
Thus the Abraham Lincoln wanted for no means of destruction; and, what
was better still she had on board Ned Land, the prince of harpooners.
Ned Land was a Canadian, with an uncommon quickness of hand, and who
knew no equal in his dangerous occupation. Skill, coolness, audacity,
and cunning he possessed in a superior degree, and it must be a cunning
whale to escape the stroke of his harpoon.
Ned Land was about forty years of age; he was a tall man (more than six
feet high), strongly built, grave and taciturn, occasionally violent,
and very passionate when contradicted. His person attracted attention,
but above all the boldness of his look, which gave a singular
expression to his face.
Who calls himself Canadian calls himself French; and, little
communicative as Ned Land was, I must admit that he took a certain
liking for me. My nationality drew him to me, no doubt. It was an
opportunity for him to talk, and for me to hear, that old language of
Rabelais, which is still in use in some Canadian provinces. The
harpooner's family was originally from Quebec, and was already a tribe
of hardy fishermen when this town belonged to France.
Little by little, Ned Land acquired a taste for chatting, and I loved
to hear the recital of his adventures in the polar seas. He related
his fishing, and his combats, with natural poetry of expression; his
recital took the form of an epic poem, and I seemed to be listening to
a Canadian Homer singing the Iliad of the regions of the North.
I am portraying this hardy companion as I really knew him. We are old
friends now, united in that unchangeable friendship which is born and
cemented amidst extreme dangers. Ah, brave Ned! I ask no more than to
live a hundred years longer, that I may have more time to dwell the
longer on your memory.
Now, what was Ned Land's opinion upon the question of the marine
monster? I must admit that he did not believe in the unicorn, and was
the only one on board who did not share that universal conviction. He
even avoided the subject, which I one day thought it my duty to press
upon him. One magnificent evening, the 30th July (that is to say,
three weeks after our departure), the frigate was abreast of Cape
Blanc, thirty miles to leeward of the coast of Patagonia. We had
crossed the tropic of Capricorn, and the Straits of Magellan opened
less than seven hundred miles to the south. Before eight days were
over the Abraham Lincoln would be ploughing the waters of the Pacific.
Seated on the poop, Ned Land and I were chatting of one thing and
another as we looked at this mysterious sea, whose great depths had up
to this time been inaccessible to the eye of man. I naturally led up
the conversation to the giant unicorn, and examined the various chances
of success or failure of the expedition. But, seeing that Ned Land let
me speak without saying too much himself, I pressed him more closely.
"Well, Ned," said I, "is it possible that you are not convinced of the
existence of this cetacean that we are following? Have you any
particular reason for being so incredulous?"
The harpooner looked at me fixedly for some moments before answering,
struck his broad forehead with his hand (a habit of his), as if to
collect himself, and said at last, "Perhaps I have, Mr. Aronnax."
"But, Ned, you, a whaler by profession, familiarised with all the great
marine mammalia--YOU ought to be the last to doubt under such
circumstances!"
"That is just what deceives you, Professor," replied Ned. "As a whaler
I have followed many a cetacean, harpooned a great number, and killed
several; but, however strong or well-armed they may have been, neither
their tails nor their weapons would have been able even to scratch the
iron plates of a steamer."
"But, Ned, they tell of ships which the teeth of the narwhal have
pierced through and through."
"Wooden ships--that is possible," replied the Canadian, "but I have
never seen it done; and, until further proof, I deny that whales,
cetaceans, or sea-unicorns could ever produce the effect you describe."
"Well, Ned, I repeat it with a conviction resting on the logic of
facts. I believe in the existence of a mammal power fully organised,
belonging to the branch of vertebrata, like the whales, the cachalots,
or the dolphins, and furnished with a horn of defence of great
penetrating power."
"Hum!" said the harpooner, shaking his head with the air of a man who
would not be convinced.
"Notice one thing, my worthy Canadian," I resumed. "If such an animal
is in existence, if it inhabits the depths of the ocean, if it
frequents the strata lying miles below the surface of the water, it
must necessarily possess an organisation the strength of which would
defy all comparison."
"And why this powerful organisation?" demanded Ned.
"Because it requires incalculable strength to keep one's self in these
strata and resist their pressure. Listen to me. Let us admit that the
pressure of the atmosphere is represented by the weight of a column of
water thirty-two feet high. In reality the column of water would be
shorter, as we are speaking of sea water, the density of which is
greater than that of fresh water. Very well, when you dive, Ned, as
many times 32 feet of water as there are above you, so many times does
your body bear a pressure equal to that of the atmosphere, that is to
say, 15 lb. for each square inch of its surface. It follows, then,
that at 320 feet this pressure equals that of 10 atmospheres, of 100
atmospheres at 3,200 feet, and of 1,000 atmospheres at 32,000 feet,
that is, about 6 miles; which is equivalent to saying that if you could
attain this depth in the ocean, each square three-eighths of an inch of
the surface of your body would bear a pressure of 5,600 lb. Ah! my
brave Ned, do you know how many square inches you carry on the surface
of your body?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Aronnax."
"About 6,500; and as in reality the atmospheric pressure is about 15
lb. to the square inch, your 6,500 square inches bear at this moment a
pressure of 97,500 lb."
"Without my perceiving it?"
"Without your perceiving it. And if you are not crushed by such a
pressure, it is because the air penetrates the interior of your body
with equal pressure. Hence perfect equilibrium between the interior
and exterior pressure, which thus neutralise each other, and which
allows you to bear it without inconvenience. But in the water it is
another thing."
"Yes, I understand," replied Ned, becoming more attentive; "because the
water surrounds me, but does not penetrate."
"Precisely, Ned: so that at 32 feet beneath the surface of the sea you
would undergo a pressure of 97,500 lb.; at 320 feet, ten times that
pressure; at 3,200 feet, a hundred times that pressure; lastly, at
32,000 feet, a thousand times that pressure would be 97,500,000
lb.--that is to say, that you would be flattened as if you had been
drawn from the plates of a hydraulic machine!"
"The devil!" exclaimed Ned.
"Very well, my worthy harpooner, if some vertebrate, several hundred
yards long, and large in proportion, can maintain itself in such
depths--of those whose surface is represented by millions of square
inches, that is by tens of millions of pounds, we must estimate the
pressure they undergo. Consider, then, what must be the resistance of
their bony structure, and the strength of their organisation to
withstand such pressure!"
"Why!" exclaimed Ned Land, "they must be made of iron plates eight
inches thick, like the armoured frigates."
"As you say, Ned. And think what destruction such a mass would cause,
if hurled with the speed of an express train against the hull of a
vessel."
"Yes--certainly--perhaps," replied the Canadian, shaken by these
figures, but not yet willing to give in.
"Well, have I convinced you?"
"You have convinced me of one thing, sir, which is that, if such
animals do exist at the bottom of the seas, they must necessarily be as
strong as you say."
"But if they do not exist, mine obstinate harpooner, how explain the
accident to the Scotia?"
CHAPTER V
AT A VENTURE
The voyage of the Abraham Lincoln was for a long time marked by no
special incident. But one circumstance happened which showed the
wonderful dexterity of Ned Land, and proved what confidence we might
place in him.
The 30th of June, the frigate spoke some American whalers, from whom we
learned that they knew nothing about the narwhal. But one of them, the
captain of the Monroe, knowing that Ned Land had shipped on board the
Abraham Lincoln, begged for his help in chasing a whale they had in
sight. Commander Farragut, desirous of seeing Ned Land at work, gave
him permission to go on board the Monroe. And fate served our Canadian
so well that, instead of one whale, he harpooned two with a double
blow, striking one straight to the heart, and catching the other after
some minutes' pursuit.
Decidedly, if the monster ever had to do with Ned Land's harpoon, I
would not bet in its favour.
The frigate skirted the south-east coast of America with great
rapidity. The 3rd of July we were at the opening of the Straits of
Magellan, level with Cape Vierges. But Commander Farragut would not
take a tortuous passage, but doubled Cape Horn.
The ship's crew agreed with him. And certainly it was possible that
they might meet the narwhal in this narrow pass. Many of the sailors
affirmed that the monster could not pass there, "that he was too big
for that!"
The 6th of July, about three o'clock in the afternoon, the Abraham
Lincoln, at fifteen miles to the south, doubled the solitary island,
this lost rock at the extremity of the American continent, to which
some Dutch sailors gave the name of their native town, Cape Horn. The
course was taken towards the north-west, and the next day the screw of
the frigate was at last beating the waters of the Pacific.
"Keep your eyes open!" called out the sailors.
And they were opened widely. Both eyes and glasses, a little dazzled,
it is true, by the prospect of two thousand dollars, had not an
instant's repose.
I myself, for whom money had no charms, was not the least attentive on
board. Giving but few minutes to my meals, but a few hours to sleep,
indifferent to either rain or sunshine, I did not leave the poop of the
vessel. Now leaning on the netting of the forecastle, now on the
taffrail, I devoured with eagerness the soft foam which whitened the
sea as far as the eye could reach; and how often have I shared the
emotion of the majority of the crew, when some capricious whale raised
its black back above the waves! The poop of the vessel was crowded on
a moment. The cabins poured forth a torrent of sailors and officers,
each with heaving breast and troubled eye watching the course of the
cetacean. I looked and looked till I was nearly blind, whilst Conseil
kept repeating in a calm voice:
"If, sir, you would not squint so much, you would see better!"
But vain excitement! The Abraham Lincoln checked its speed and made
for the animal signalled, a simple whale, or common cachalot, which
soon disappeared amidst a storm of abuse.
But the weather was good. The voyage was being accomplished under the
most favourable auspices. It was then the bad season in Australia, the
July of that zone corresponding to our January in Europe, but the sea
was beautiful and easily scanned round a vast circumference.
The 20th of July, the tropic of Capricorn was cut by 105d of longitude,
and the 27th of the same month we crossed the Equator on the 110th
meridian. This passed, the frigate took a more decided westerly
direction, and scoured the central waters of the Pacific. Commander
Farragut thought, and with reason, that it was better to remain in deep
water, and keep clear of continents or islands, which the beast itself
seemed to shun (perhaps because there was not enough water for him!
suggested the greater part of the crew). The frigate passed at some
distance from the Marquesas and the Sandwich Islands, crossed the
tropic of Cancer, and made for the China Seas. We were on the theatre
of the last diversions of the monster: and, to say truth, we no longer
LIVED on board. The entire ship's crew were undergoing a nervous
excitement, of which I can give no idea: they could not eat, they
could not sleep--twenty times a day, a misconception or an optical
illusion of some sailor seated on the taffrail, would cause dreadful
perspirations, and these emotions, twenty times repeated, kept us in a
state of excitement so violent that a reaction was unavoidable.
And truly, reaction soon showed itself. For three months, during which
a day seemed an age, the Abraham Lincoln furrowed all the waters of the
Northern Pacific, running at whales, making sharp deviations from her
course, veering suddenly from one tack to another, stopping suddenly,
putting on steam, and backing ever and anon at the risk of deranging
her machinery, and not one point of the Japanese or American coast was
left unexplored.
The warmest partisans of the enterprise now became its most ardent
detractors. Reaction mounted from the crew to the captain himself, and
certainly, had it not been for the resolute determination on the part
of Captain Farragut, the frigate would have headed due southward. This
useless search could not last much longer. The Abraham Lincoln had
nothing to reproach herself with, she had done her best to succeed.
Never had an American ship's crew shown more zeal or patience; its
failure could not be placed to their charge--there remained nothing but
to return.
This was represented to the commander. The sailors could not hide
their discontent, and the service suffered. I will not say there was a
mutiny on board, but after a reasonable period of obstinacy, Captain
Farragut (as Columbus did) asked for three days' patience. If in three
days the monster did not appear, the man at the helm should give three
turns of the wheel, and the Abraham Lincoln would make for the European
seas.
This promise was made on the 2nd of November. It had the effect of
rallying the ship's crew. The ocean was watched with renewed
attention. Each one wished for a last glance in which to sum up his
remembrance. Glasses were used with feverish activity. It was a grand
defiance given to the giant narwhal, and he could scarcely fail to
answer the summons and "appear."
Two days passed, the steam was at half pressure; a thousand schemes
were tried to attract the attention and stimulate the apathy of the
animal in case it should be met in those parts. Large quantities of
bacon were trailed in the wake of the ship, to the great satisfaction
(I must say) of the sharks. Small craft radiated in all directions
round the Abraham Lincoln as she lay to, and did not leave a spot of
the sea unexplored. But the night of the 4th of November arrived
without the unveiling of this submarine mystery.
The next day, the 5th of November, at twelve, the delay would (morally
speaking) expire; after that time, Commander Farragut, faithful to his
promise, was to turn the course to the south-east and abandon for ever
the northern regions of the Pacific.
The frigate was then in 31° 15' N. lat. and 136° 42' E. long.
The coast of Japan still remained less than two hundred miles to
leeward. Night was approaching. They had just struck eight bells;
large clouds veiled the face of the moon, then in its first quarter.
The sea undulated peaceably under the stern of the vessel.
At that moment I was leaning forward on the starboard netting.
Conseil, standing near me, was looking straight before him. The crew,
perched in the ratlines, examined the horizon which contracted and
darkened by degrees. Officers with their night glasses scoured the
growing darkness: sometimes the ocean sparkled under the rays of the
moon, which darted between two clouds, then all trace of light was lost
in the darkness.
In looking at Conseil, I could see he was undergoing a little of the
general influence. At least I thought so. Perhaps for the first time
his nerves vibrated to a sentiment of curiosity.
"Come, Conseil," said I, "this is the last chance of pocketing the two
thousand dollars."
"May I be permitted to say, sir," replied Conseil, "that I never
reckoned on getting the prize; and, had the government of the Union
offered a hundred thousand dollars, it would have been none the poorer."
"You are right, Conseil. It is a foolish affair after all, and one
upon which we entered too lightly. What time lost, what useless
emotions! We should have been back in France six months ago."
"In your little room, sir," replied Conseil, "and in your museum, sir;
and I should have already classed all your fossils, sir. And the
Babiroussa would have been installed in its cage in the Jardin des
Plantes, and have drawn all the curious people of the capital!"
"As you say, Conseil. I fancy we shall run a fair chance of being
laughed at for our pains."
"That's tolerably certain," replied Conseil, quietly; "I think they
will make fun of you, sir. And, must I say it----?"
"Go on, my good friend."
"Well, sir, you will only get your deserts."
"Indeed!"
"When one has the honour of being a _savant_ as you are, sir, one should
not expose one's self to----"
Conseil had not time to finish his compliment. In the midst of general
silence a voice had just been heard. It was the voice of Ned Land
shouting:
"Look out there! The very thing we are looking for--on our weather
beam!"
CHAPTER VI
AT FULL STEAM
At this cry the whole ship's crew hurried towards the
harpooner--commander, officers, masters, sailors, cabin boys; even the
engineers left their engines, and the stokers their furnaces.
The order to stop her had been given, and the frigate now simply went
on by her own momentum. The darkness was then profound, and, however
good the Canadian's eyes were, I asked myself how he had managed to
see, and what he had been able to see. My heart beat as if it would
break. But Ned Land was not mistaken, and we all perceived the object
he pointed to. At two cables' length from the Abraham Lincoln, on the
starboard quarter, the sea seemed to be illuminated all over. It was
not a mere phosphoric phenomenon. The monster emerged some fathoms
from the water, and then threw out that very intense but mysterious
light mentioned in the report of several captains. This magnificent
irradiation must have been produced by an agent of great SHINING power.
The luminous part traced on the sea an immense oval, much elongated,
the centre of which condensed a burning heat, whose overpowering
brilliancy died out by successive gradations.
"It is only a massing of phosphoric particles," cried one of the
officers.
"No, sir, certainly not," I replied. "That brightness is of an
essentially electrical nature. Besides, see, see! it moves; it is
moving forwards, backwards; it is darting towards us!"
A general cry arose from the frigate.
"Silence!" said the captain. "Up with the helm, reverse the engines."
The steam was shut off, and the Abraham Lincoln, beating to port,
described a semicircle.
"Right the helm, go ahead," cried the captain.
These orders were executed, and the frigate moved rapidly from the
burning light.
I was mistaken. She tried to sheer off, but the supernatural animal
approached with a velocity double her own.
We gasped for breath. Stupefaction more than fear made us dumb and
motionless. The animal gained on us, sporting with the waves. It made
the round of the frigate, which was then making fourteen knots, and
enveloped it with its electric rings like luminous dust.
Then it moved away two or three miles, leaving a phosphorescent track,
like those volumes of steam that the express trains leave behind. All
at once from the dark line of the horizon whither it retired to gain
its momentum, the monster rushed suddenly towards the Abraham Lincoln
with alarming rapidity, stopped suddenly about twenty feet from the
hull, and died out--not diving under the water, for its brilliancy did
not abate--but suddenly, and as if the source of this brilliant
emanation was exhausted. Then it reappeared on the other side of the
vessel, as if it had turned and slid under the hull. Any moment a
collision might have occurred which would have been fatal to us.
However, I was astonished at the manoeuvres of the frigate. She fled
and did not attack.
On the captain's face, generally so impassive, was an expression of
unaccountable astonishment.
"Mr. Aronnax," he said, "I do not know with what formidable being I
have to deal, and I will not imprudently risk my frigate in the midst
of this darkness. Besides, how attack this unknown thing, how defend
one's self from it? Wait for daylight, and the scene will change."
"You have no further doubt, captain, of the nature of the animal?"
"No, sir; it is evidently a gigantic narwhal, and an electric one."
"Perhaps," added I, "one can only approach it with a torpedo."
"Undoubtedly," replied the captain, "if it possesses such dreadful
power, it is the most terrible animal that ever was created. That is
why, sir, I must be on my guard."
The crew were on their feet all night. No one thought of sleep. The
Abraham Lincoln, not being able to struggle with such velocity, had
moderated its pace, and sailed at half speed. For its part, the